


right in front of me

by sunnilee



Series: best laid plans: contingencies [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Humor, blue lions - Freeform, but he has gone overboard because he is NOT going to lose to lorenz, but here we are, drunk sylvain is an honest sylvain, rating for language and alcohol use, stealth edits to come bc I proofed this once, the kids are just trying their best..., this is also just complete trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/pseuds/sunnilee
Summary: Being honest isn't as hard as it looks... if Sylvain ignores the absurd number of proving-a-point shots he took to get here.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: best laid plans: contingencies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776142
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	right in front of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nightsdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightsdawn/gifts), [nicole_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/gifts), [Julx3tte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/gifts), [paperpenpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts), [emiwaka29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiwaka29/gifts).



> because the discord has convinced me the modern au continues and we have drunk sylvain ver 2 (an up/downgrade from [cotton&gauze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188362) sylvain?)

Ashe isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, holding up his phone in the general direction of a darkened stairwell with Dedue standing watch a few feet away, recording the inconsolable sobs of his two considerably plastered friends he looks up to.

He ends the recording on a particularly wet sniffle and sighs, texting Mercedes while he mumbles to Dedue, “are you sure we should just leave them like that? It feels… sad. This was supposed to be a low maintenance bachelor party, how did we get to this point?”

Dedue closes his eyes and sighs, “I imagine it was around the time Claude convinced Lorenz that alcohol tolerance is quite the becoming trait of an upstart politician, and that the quickest way to improve was by taking shots.”

Ashe racks his own brain, also foggy from the two shots he took at Sylvain’s insistence to celebrate with Dimitri, and grimaces. “…That’s right. Then Lorenz bought his own bottle of liquor from Claude and started taking more shots with Dimitri, and Sylvain did _not_ take kindly to that.”

Dedue nods his head sagely. “Indeed, he did not.”

Ashe shakes his head, remembering how Sylvain and Lorenz slammed shot after shot back, not to be one-upped by the other, while Dimitri matched them both, so as not to offend one of his best friends and one of his guests.

A loud wail sounds from behind them and Ashe hurriedly checks his phone again. _Please Mercedes… we need you…_

He exhales in relief when he sees a typing bubble pop up. Then, it disappears, and Ashe is worried again. He watches the bubble reappear and disappear for several minutes as a fresh round of tears start behind them.

Even Dedue’s eyebrow twitches at the sudden thump followed by a pitiful whine and a hiccup, and Ashe can no longer tell who’s in worse shape back there.

His phone buzzes and Mercedes has finally responded.

_Mercedes: They’ll be okay._

Dedue reads the message over his shoulder as Ashe casts another worried glance in the direction of his two friends when he hears another whimper. He looks toward Dedue, who nods in the direction of the main floor. “We’ll need Felix’s help to get them sorted out.”

Nodding absently, Ashe makes his way back to the bar where Felix sits with his hands massaging his temples, no doubt having heard the continuous wailing from his childhood friends, when his phone buzzes again.

Another message from Mercedes.

_Mercedes: Help is on the way._

Ashe gulps and desperately hopes no speed records will be broken today.

* * *

Sylvain knocks the back of his head against the wall as he tries to adjust his legs in the dark, cramped corner behind the club’s stairwell that he and Dimitri have staked claim to.

_Executive and motor function are decidedly out of the question._

Normally, a hit like that wouldn’t warrant anything beyond a reflexive _ow_ , but Sylvain is feeling _extra_ sorry for himself this evening and Dimitri has so kindly joined his pity party… _and_ _misery loves company._

So, he lets out a drawn out whine that’s promptly cut off by a hiccup, and Sylvain finds he’s mad he can’t even _whine properly._

Dimitri slaps a hand over his mouth and Sylvain feels his teeth rattle. _Dimitri does_ not _remember his own strength when he’s drunk._

Planning a trip to the dentist aside, Sylvain looks questioningly at his best friend, who’s holding a finger to his lips, eyes looking past their hiding spot. He whispers, “quiet, Sylvain! It will do us no good to be found by our friends like this.”

While he’s inclined to agree, taking in the sight of Dimitri’s disheveled hair and wrinkled shirt ( _and he knows he is not doing much better_ ), Sylvain’s also pretty sure two of the other Lions followed them back here and he’s not sure how to break it to Dimitri’s tear-streaked face.

If he had to guess who’d be kind ( _not_ Felix) and responsible ( _definitely not Felix_ ) enough to go after them, _it’d probably be—_ “Apologies, Dimitri. Ashe saw you and Sylvain leave the main area. When you did not return in the next hour, we came to investigate.”

_Dedue and Ashe._

Sylvain hiccups again as he feels Dimitri tense next to him and claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, calling over in a scratchy voice, “We’re, uh… we’re okay! Give us a minute—”

Dimitri’s ragged whisper comes at the same time as Dedue’s deadpan.

“Are we truly okay, Sylvain?”

“We’ve given you an hour. It is clear you two are _not_ okay.”

He was… _mostly_ out of tears, and really only started again because _Dimitri_ started again. _Alcohol truly destroys any semblance of control he has…_

Dimitri’s eyes get watery again and Sylvain can feel his own well up, and he hurriedly chokes out, “Dimitri, _no._ We’ve been through this. You _deserve_ happiness and you _are good enough_ for Byleth! You’re marrying her! She said yes!”

At his own insistence of Dimitri’s worth, Sylvain can feel the guilt mounting in his chest. “Felix and Annette too. They’re engaged, you’re getting married, and here I am, can’t even ask—”

He’s promptly cut off and shaken by Dimitri’s heavy-handed grip. “The same goes for you, Sylvain! I _don’t care_ what your family has said about your worth. _We’re_ your family now, and you are _good._ Ingrid loves you, we _all_ love you, for you! Just _ask_ her!”

The mention of Ingrid pushes him over the edge, _again_. “But _how_? You _know_ how long it took me to even ask her to _move in_ with me, how am I supposed to ask— _”_

“By being honest! She’s been by your side this entire time, Sylvain, and I don’t think she’s leaving any time soon.”

The thought of Ingrid’s bright blonde hair and shining green eyes, her face lighting up when she sees him, the way she softly kisses him good morning—

The thought of losing all of that, of losing _her…_

 _Terrifies_ him.

And he has _never_ been good at facing his fears.

It sets off another round of tears. “Dimitri, _I can’t—_ ”

Sylvain’s stomach lurches suddenly as he’s hauled up by the armpits and he hears Felix’s dry voice. “I think that’s enough for one night.”

He blinks blearily, just barely making out his best friend’s face as Dimitri is lifted to his feet in a similar fashion by Dedue. “How nice of you to join us, Felix. I thought Ashe came with Dedue… But anyway, you missed out on a _great_ bonding session—”

Felix slings one of Sylvain’s arms over his shoulder and scoffs. “Ashe came to get me after you knocked your head. As for this ‘ _bonding_ ’ session, I think I heard enough. In fact, I think most of everyone heard you two babbling fools before you found this stairwell to hide out in.”

Sylvain hiccups, again. “Lovely. So, I don’t have to rehash the story—?”

He stumbles as Felix tries to take a step forward with him and his best friend growls, readjusting his grip. “G _et it together_ , Sylvain. Ingrid’s coming to pick you up, and I’d rather not have to explain to her how you got like this.”

Sylvain doesn’t hear anything beyond Ingrid’s name and Felix regrets saying anything at all when his best friend lets out a loud wail for the tenth time that night. They’ve barely made it to the curbside where Ingrid said she would pick up their weepy friend when Felix hears a crash sound inside, accompanied by _another_ wail he’s heard far too many times in one night.

Groaning, he drops Sylvain’s shoulder and positions his still teary friend against the wall. After making sure he could stand without swaying, Felix fixes him with a hard stare. “Do _not_ move. From this spot. You hear me? Ingrid will be here in a few moments. I have to go check on the boar… and make sure Claude doesn’t do anything to make it worse.”

As Felix turns to leave, Sylvain blindly reaches out for his arm. “Wait no, Felix, don’t leave me—”

Felix sighs. “Ingrid loves you, Sylvain. I get your fear, and I get where it’s coming from, but she’s always been right in front of you this whole time, even when you weren’t looking. Just… trust her.”

Sylvain is quiet for a moment, his grip tightening on Felix’s arm. Then, he mumbles, “I know.”

Seconds pass by in silence and Felix raises an eyebrow. “Am I getting my arm back tonight?”

Sylvain hastily releases his best friend’s arm, one hand jumping to the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just… I can’t see anything right now.”

“What?”

Even though he can’t see Felix’s incredulous stare, he can _feel_ it. “I uh… I took my contacts out.”

Sylvain watches the Felix-shaped blob in front of him drag a hand across his face. “…And _why_ did you do that, Sylvain?”

“Well, I thought that would be obvious with all the crying you claimed you heard. Dry, salty contacts are _real_ pain in the—”

Another crash breaks through the night air followed by Claude’s laughter, and Sylvain hears Felix groan heavily again. “Look, stay _exactly_ where you are. Ingrid said ETA was twenty minutes. I have to make sure there’s no property damage we’re responsible for.”

With that, Felix leaves his best friend leaning against the wall, wondering how the hell _he_ became the emotional pillar of support tonight.

* * *

Intermission had just started when Ingrid receives a rather strange text message from Mercedes. _A voice recording?_

She’s just about to duck into a less crowded hallway to listen when she sees Dorothea weaving through the crowd toward her. Message momentarily forgotten, she catches Dorothea as she sweeps her into a crushing hug. “Ingie, you made it!”

Ingrid smiles. “Of course I made it! Opening night for the play you wrote? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Dorothea beams at her and her eyes flick down, smile broadening. “New dress?”

The twinkle in Dorothea’s eyes sets Ingrid on edge. “Yes, I… I bought it for your show. It’s a special occasion after all.”

Her friend nods thoughtfully as she spins her around, taking in the emerald green satin and square neckline. “It’s lovely, Ingrid. You look beautiful. Though, I’m surprised you were able to make it out of the house without Sylvain leaving a single mark on you—”

“ _Dorothea!_ ”

Her face is burning as Dorothea laughs. “I’m serious! We both know how weak he is for any hint of collarbone, how’d you manage to get away from him?”

Ingrid’s cheeks turn even brighter. “I got dressed _after_ he left for Dimitri’s bachelor party—”

“Got dressed? Were you not before—”

” _Thea!_ You _know_ what I mean—” Three continuous buzzes come from Ingrid’s purse and she remembers what she was doing beforehand. “Just a second, Thea. Mercedes sent me a voice recording and I want to make sure everything’s okay—”

“I bet it’s Sylvain drunk crying.”

She sighs. “As weepy as Sylvain can get when he drinks, Mercedes isn’t even at the party.”

Ingrid pulls her phone out and reads her texts, and feels her stomach drop. _Don’t tell me…_

_Mercedes: Your expertise may be needed._

_Mercedes: …it’s a bit much for me to handle over the phone alone._

_Mercedes: But I know you’re at Dorothea’s opening night, so please don’t feel obligated._

She walks over to the less crowded hallway with Dorothea close behind and selects the voice recording, holding her phone up to her ear. She’s promptly met with two recognizable wails so loud she flinches away from her phone. As she hastily pauses the recording, Ingrid sees Dorothea’s raised eyebrow and barely concealed smile. “Sounds like you’re needed elsewhere, Ingie.”

In a frustrating combination of exasperation and worry, she apologizes, “Thea, I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you—”

Dorothea waves her hand dismissively, her ring flashing in the light. “No worries, Ingrid. Sylvain will pay up one way or another. Now, _go_.” She pushes Ingrid toward the exit and winks as she looks back, keys in hand. “Your princess needs his knight in shining armor.”

* * *

Sylvain’s ears are ringing, and that delightful pounding headache is starting to settle in behind his eyes. He’s stayed in the exact same spot for who knows _how_ long, as per Felix’s orders. Admittedly, he tried straightening up without the support of the wall behind him, felt his head spin, and immediately slouched back against the cool brick.

He groans softly to himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. “ _Lorenz_ and his _stupid_ bottle of _stupid_ tequila… where did he even get that anyway…”

Felix was drawn away by the crashes inside the club and Claude’s suspicious laughter, but not without leaving him with some very Felix observations about his relationship with their best friend.

_She’s always been right in front of you this whole time._

But Sylvain was getting awfully tired standing out here alone, waiting for Ingrid to appear in front of him.

_Ingrid._

He sighs. She was going to Dorothea’s event tonight and he _knows_ she bought a new dress for it… and he was most definitely not above begging to see it, but she pushed him out the door so he wouldn’t be late for Dimitri’s party.

He frowns. _His pouting does not work as well as it used to._

The buzzing in his ears grows louder and he groans again, swaying slightly against the wall. “ _Fuck_ tequila…”

“Oh, you poor thing… let’s get you home.”

He whips in the direction of the voice and regrets it _immediately_ , with the sudden nausea that rises in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself against the wall as his head spins. He barely hears the footsteps come closer to him and his hand shoots out. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m waiting for my girlfriend. She’ll be here any minute now.”

The footsteps stop and he breathes a sigh of relief. _He does_ not _have the energy nor the capacity to deal with propositions tonight—_

“Sylvain? I am your girlfriend—”

He snorts and opens his eyes to see exactly who this stranger is—

_Right._

He took his contacts out.

Sylvain blinks blearily in the stranger’s direction and thinks he sees blonde hair, maybe a green dress? He shakes his head and grimaces at how foggy he feels. “I haven’t heard that one before, so I’ll give you points for that. Listen, don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty and everything… but I just really _really_ love my girlfriend, okay? So if you’d just—”

Another wave of nausea hits him and he slaps a hand over his mouth. _Actually, if he threw up here, would that make this girl leave?_

Before he can think too much on it, he hears the girl sigh and the last tiny shred of his sober mind tingles. “Okay, prove it.”

_And it’s gone._ “What?”

“Prove to me you have a girlfriend. Call her right now, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

 _Stubborn this one._ “ _Fine_ , I’ll call her.” He sighs heavily and musters every last bit of his motor function to fumble in his pocket for his phone. He glares in the direction he last heard the stranger’s voice and pointedly raises his phone. “Hey Siri, call ‘ _love of my life’_.”

Sylvain hears the stranger groan and he raises an eyebrow in challenge as his phone rings. He thinks he sees her reach for something in her purse when Ingrid’s voice sounds in his ear. “Hello?”

He sags in relief. “Thank Seiros… Ing, can you come pick me up? I’m scared. There’s this really persistent blonde that’s—” The stranger steps closer and his vision finally decides to clear up. “Oh.”

Ingrid stares back at him with a carefully neutral face. “A really persistent blonde that’s _what_ , Sylvain?”

He gulps as the corner of her lips twitch. “She, uh… she’s trying to take me home with her. What do I do?”

Ingrid inhales deeply and shoves her phone back in her purse. “I don’t know, Sylvain. What do _you_ want to do?”

Phone still to his ear, he takes in the no-longer-blurry image of Ingrid, with her golden blonde hair and glowing skin and the square neckline of her green dress that’s doing _illegal_ things to him and he is _so so lucky—_ “I want to marry you.”

Ingrid’s eyes widen and a blush colors her cheeks prettily, and Sylvain feels his heart soar. He wants to walk over to her and wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her neck, but his feet feel like lead and he’s pretty sure if he takes _one_ step away from this wall, he _will_ topple over—

He’s saved from any further brain power when Ingrid shakes her head and laughs lightly, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re half dead on your feet, and you’re still trying to be charming?”

He leans heavily into her warmth and breathes deeply, the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla filling his senses. _She smells nice_. “I might be half dead, but I’m all yours.”

Sylvain staggers with her when she momentarily loses her grip. _That or she very seriously considered dropping him._ He hears her huff in exasperation, “all mine, huh? What happened to that girlfriend of yours?”

Her strong arms set him upright again and she gets him walking slowly, and he can’t help the smile that grows on his face. “She hung up on me.”

Ingrid snorts. “Rude of her, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head vigorously, ignoring the way his world tilts because _Ingrid’s here_. “No, no. I deserve it. She was right there in front of me the entire time, even if I was too stupid to notice.”

Ingrid’s car comes into view and she sighs again, fondness bleeding into her voice. “What am I going to do with you, Sylvain?”

She sets him against the side of her car as she digs around in her purse for her keys and he smiles again. “Well, for starters, you could make me your husband, sweep me off my feet, and—”

The nausea from before slams into him full force and he’s throwing up an entire night’s worth of pettiness and depression.

Then, he blacks out.

* * *

Sylvain feels like he’s been hit by a truck and he would feel a deep-seated anger at Lorenz and his _stupid tequila_ if it weren’t for the massive headache that keeps him from making any sudden movements.

He groans and is _highly_ disappointed at the lack of Ingrid next to him. Despite not being in bed with him, she’s kept the curtains shut and she’s left a glass of water along with some ibuprofen and vitamin B pills for him. Gritting his teeth, he rolls over until the water is in reach and he shoves the pills in his mouth.

He finishes the entire glass and tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He does _not_ want to think about what time it is.

Yawning widely, he sets the glass back down and his hand brushes against something that makes him freeze.

_No._

He grabs the small velvet box off the nightstand, his heart racing.

_She… she didn’t find it, did she?_

Fingers trembling, Sylvain opens the lid and _drops_ it immediately. It’s not the ring he bought months ago and hid away from her.

It’s simultaneously better and worse.

A strikingly familiar blue gemstone he’s seen before winks up at him, and he shakily picks up the paper note that fluttered onto his blankets.

_Don’t make me wait forever._

_-From: the love of your life_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember what possessed me to write this, but my Sylvain brain cell was evicted by my medical brain cell in the middle of all of this, so I don't even know how this reads :').
> 
> side note: dorothea is a certified seer (please refer to [a change of pace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280963/chapters/58523968) & [lay them to rest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394408) for additional evidence)


End file.
